


Shopping for Furniture

by shaneequa



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, IKEA!, Oblivious Clint, prompt-fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaneequa/pseuds/shaneequa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill:<br/>“Clint and Natasha go to Ikea. Clint and Natasha assemble Ikea furniture”</p><p>“Clint’s not sure how it happened, but one day he wakes up and they’re living together.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shopping for Furniture

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own 'em.
> 
> Just an attempt to fill in prompts :) -- All mistakes are mine.

Natasha eyed Clint’s ugly, worn, and beat up couch that he so proudly told her he picked up from some street in Brooklyn to replace the equally ugly, worn, and beat up couch he picked up from another street somewhere in New York City two months ago. She didn’t notice it when she walked in at the ass-crack of dawn coming in from a mission but that was because she headed straight into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed after shedding her clothes.

Now that she was awake though, now that she had her morning run and cup of coffee, she can properly see the horrid couch that was the centerfold of the living room. The fabric was torn, and taped together in certain places, the cushions ratted over, and even Lucky refused to go near that thing. For once, she agreed with the dog.

She looked around to analyze what else Clint got from his short shopping spree in the streets of Brooklyn while she was off on a three day mission with Steve. The redhead made a clicking sound in the back of her throat, _ah._  There was a now a bookshelf in the corner of the living room that definitely seen better days. (Probably back in the 90s considering its metallic finish.)

Natasha finished off her cup of coffee and walked into the bedroom where Clint was still sprawled on top of the sheets, knocked out from his adventures in adopting stray furniture from the previous day, as well as the activities that they got into when he realized she was back. 

“Clinton,” Natasha said poking Clint’s leg with her foot.

Clint groaned, burying his face further into the sheets.

She rolled her eyes and nudged his leg with her foot, a little harder that time.

“Clinton, get up.” 

Clint groaned again moving around, sandwiching his head between the mattress and one of the deep purple pillows within his reach.

She sighed.

“I’m naked, and horny,” she whined knowing that would get him up, in more ways than one.

Just as she anticipated, Clint sat up looking over at her with a lazy grin on his face, only to be disappointed to see that she had thrown on clothes. The spark coming back when he realized she was in his t-shirt.

“I’m up,” Clint stated, the lazy grin on his face, his eyebrows wagging in suggestion.

“Get up, get dressed, we’re going furniture shopping,” Natasha ordered him throwing him jeans and a t-shirt earning another groan from Clint.

“What? What happened to naked and horny?” Clint asked rolling out of the bed and slipping on his jeans.

“I’ll reward you, considerably, when we’re back,” she said rolling her eyes and walking over to the walk-in closet that housed her clothes. She opted for some shorts and a nice shirt.

“Babe,” Clint called out from the main room. “Throw me some shorts, it’s hot as shit outside.”

She looked around the room, walked to Clint’s section of the room and finding the pair of his favorite shorts on the floor. She walked out of the room with his hat and sunglasses, handing them to him.

“Thanks,” he said giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t understand why we have to go get stuff, we got all the stuff.”

“Oh you mean like that couch and bookshelf you got while i was on a mission?”

“They’re respectable pieces of furniture,” Clint argued. “Some would say _antique.”_

“I think most people would just say trash,” Natasha said opening the door to walk out of it with Clint in tow.

“They’re not… they’re…”

“Don’t argue, Clinton,” she told him. “I’d rather spend the day lazy on the couch, but I refuse to get on that disgusting couch that would probably give people some disease.”

“But — we couldn’t, I dunno, dry clean it?”

Natasha threw him a look, one that he was all too familiar with.

It was the “are you fucking serious” look.

He sighed. “Where are we going?”

“Ikea,” she smirked. “I would say Pottery Barn, but I don’t want to give you, or your apartment a heart attack.”

He scoffed. “Pottery Barn? Should I even ask?”

She shook her head taking his hand and jumping on the train to get to Ikea. The train ride was short and spent with both of them trying to hold their breathes from the stench of alcohol from the college students, and the body odor from the rest of the passengers.

“I called Pepper, she’ll be sending over a truck to get what we buy,” Natasha said as they walked out of the subway and towards the large blue building with the giant Ikea sign.

Clint looked around as he walked into the Disneyland of furniture.

“Whoa,” he said looking around almost running towards one of the mock up rooms and jumping on the bed, spread-eagle.

She laughed and shook her head when he motioned for her to do it as well.

“C’mon! You should try it! Maybe we can get a new bed while we’re here!”

Natasha shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the bed collapsing next to Clint.

“Comfy?”

She nodded her head. “We might have to get a new bed.”

“Worn out the springs on the one we have,” Clint smirked at her. “This is a nice set up. We should put the bedroom this way.”

Natasha shook her head, scrunching her face. “No, too…”

“Too what?”

“I don’t like it,” she stated.

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “But the bed?”

“I like the bed.”

He sat up and looked around. “So what else, besides this bed are we getting?”

“Couch,” Natasha said sitting up and making Clint sit up.

“Where the couches at?”

Natasha resisted the urge to hold his hand, because that’s not something _she_ did as they walked down the mock displays to the couch. Clint looking at each and every one of them and taking in ideas for the apartment.

They walked around the couches Clint sitting at everyone until he landed one that expanded out.

“Oh man,” Clint exclaimed with a smile. “Look at this one! This one’s good.”

Natasha walked over towards him from the leather selections and sat on the reclining couch that he was at.

“This is good,” she agreed. “Not as aesthetically pleasing as that one i picked over there but…”

“But this one,” Clint pouted at her gesturing to the reclined couch that he was still on.

“How about,” Natasha paused so that she would tuck away the Black Widow knowing she could play Clint but it was something she never wanted to do. “We go get the one I want over there, but we’ll get a matching recliner?”

Clint looked at her skeptically. “I’ll still get a recliner?”

“Yes, you will,” Natasha stated. “But this way we both get what we want, deal?”

“Deal.”

Natasha and Clint picked up the tag for the couch that she picked, grabbing another tag for a simple bookshelf on their way to the warehouse.

Clint pushed the cart as Natasha navigated her way through the warehouse stopping to get the pieces that went with _her_ couch and _his_ recliner.

Then they stopped on the way to get the bookshelf that she wanted and the mattress and bed set that Clint wanted to replace the one that he claimed that he and Natasha had worn down. They finished their tasks and went up to the register in the efficiency that they did when they loaded their aircraft for missions.

“That it?” Clint asked eyeing the stack of new furniture that was in the cart wearily.

Natasha stood there looked around with a critical eye before smiling and running over to the imported chocolates on the side grabbing a couple and putting them on the top of the pile.

“As close to the chocolates that we had at Budapest,” she smiled at him as the cashier rung up the items.

Clint handed the woman at the register his black Amex (registered to Grant Turner, a Stark Industries contract lawyer) not paying attention to the prices. He and Natasha got paid well enough by SHIELD and from their contracting days that money was and will never be a problem. They weren’t as well off as Tony Stark, but they could live the rest of their lives more than comfortably if they chose to retire at that moment.

“Did you call for the truck?” Clint asked Natasha as the cashier proceeded to ring up their purchases.

“I did, they are outside waiting to load our stuff.”

Clint nodded his head, watching as their purchases were rung up and finished, pushing the cart out to the loading bay and letting the lackeys from Stark Industries take care of the rest.

Their ride to the apartment was filled with silent glances from the Stark Industries workers who was probably warned by Stark (or Happy, mostly Happy) to not even look them in the eye for fear that they might get shot.

The lackeys were instructed to drop off the boxes of to-be furniture up the fifteen flights of stairs to the apartment. Natasha and Clint helped unload the truck to carry the boxes up the stairs because Clint’s building would of course not have an elevator.

After about an two hours of hauling things up and down the stairs (Natasha made sure the couch and the bookshelf were out of the apartment), they were finally done and Natasha and Clint were finally alone in the apartment, surrounded by boxes of objects.

“Well, shit,” Clint said looking at the boxes.

“Come on, Clint, it’ll be easy,” Natasha said already starting on the box that had _her_ couch.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint said walking over to get his toolbox from some part of the house.

Natasha spread out the manual in front of her on the floor, reading the instructions.

“Woman, what are you doing with instructions?”

“Assembling it in the correct way,” she told him still looking over at the instructions.

“Men don’t use instructions,” Clint told her with a smile opening up the box and starting to lay out the pieces one by one where he thought things should go, while Natasha used the instruction manual to move around the pieces to where they’re actually supposed to go.

The two worked in silence as Clint laid out the things, and Natasha quietly shot him glares as she continued to correct him.

After hammering, and screwing in parts together, Natasha’s couch was finally finished and positioned in front of the large television that was currently playing a Dog Cops marathon.

Natasha collapsed on the couch with a content sigh followed by Clint.

“What do you say Thai for dinner?” Clint asked her, checking his watch and seeing that damn, they not only skipped lunch (and breakfast) but it was dinner time.

The redhead looked up at him and nodded. “Red curry?”

“And green,” Clint said reaching for his phone on the floor nearby without leaving the couch.

He dialed in for the food and snuggled further into the couch next to Natasha.

“This was a great choice, Romanoff,” Clint stated complimenting her choice of couch.

"We have the recliner and the bed to put together after dinner,” Natasha reminded him, resting her head on the couch, her eyes closed.

They sat there napping until there was a buzz in the apartment signaling that their dinner had arrived.

Natasha and Clint groaned in their seats, Clint getting up first. “I’ll get it, you set up?”

Natasha nodded her head and watched Clint leave for the main door and come back up in a few minutes with paper plates out.

Clint put the food down on the table, both proceeded to eat in silence. Natasha continued to yawn ever other bite, showing signs of her fatigue from the day that they had and from the mission she just returned from the night before.

After they ate, Clint cleaned up the dishes and leftovers, seeing Natasha hoover around the boxes of DIY furniture. “Hey Tash, why don’t we leave that for tomorrow and go to bed?”

Natasha eyed the boxes then looked back at Clint nodded her head. Clint followed her to the bedroom where she had already stripped and gotten under the covers.

“Night babe,” Clint said throwing a loose arm around Natasha curling up to her side.

“Night.” 

The next morning, Clint slipped out of bed, letting Natasha sleep in a little more, working on the recliner to put in the living room and the bookshelf that Natasha had snuck into their purchases.

While it took him a shorter time to admit, he used the manual (because he didn’t have to prove his masculinity to himself), and got the task finished in half an hour. He sat on the recliner with a smile on his face turning on Dog Cops, then looking around at the apartment.

He had to admit, they all made his living room look more like a home and less like a storage facility.

New bookshelf, new couch, new recliner. There was a Persian throw blanket over the couch, some Russian books on the shelf, and he even had a coaster on the makeshift coffee table (read: trunk that housed weapons).

He looked around once more with a frown on his face, the frown turning into that grin.

“What are you smiling like an idiot about?” Natasha asked leaning on the wall between the bedroom and the living room.

“Just wondering, when did you move in?” Clint asked her with the same smile on his face. She shook her head and walked to him, flopping down on his lap the way that only Natasha Romanoff could.

“You _just_ noticed this?” She scoffed at him. “So much for having eyes of a hawk.”


End file.
